


lover, hunter, friend, and enemy (you will always be every one of these)

by HopelessHoping



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst, Azure Moon - Freeform, Canon-Typical Violence, Crimson Flower, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Past Abuse, Pining, Post-Timeskip | War Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pre-Timeskip | Academy Phase (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), mentions of trauma, more tags to come, no beta we die like Glenn, not posted in linear order, semi canon compliant, so much of it, the author can have a little bit of both routes... as a treat, there is divergence and elements from both routes, those who slither in the dark are brought up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-28
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:49:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,258
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23896348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HopelessHoping/pseuds/HopelessHoping
Summary: Heavy is the crown of the heretic queen and yet she refuses to bow her head.Hungry are the eyes of the tempest king and yet no taste of victory ever reaches his tongue.Or; Edelgard and Dimitri through the years in a collection of moments no one asked for but I was itching to write. Semi-canon compliant? Not necessarily in chronological order
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Edelgard von Hresvelg
Comments: 2
Kudos: 59





	1. Fragility

**Author's Note:**

> First Fire Emblem work but not my first work by far. I don't know, I just think their dynamic is neat and I'm a sucker for unending angst. Oooops. The tone to each scene varies pretty heavily and I will be adding more tags to accommodate what is to come. There will be violence, there will be anger, there will be passion, there might be some vague smut, but most importantly, there will be a lot of character studying.

She is deceptively light in his arms as he frantically closes the distance between the training yard and the infirmary. His feet don’t feel fast enough. She is fine. He has to assure himself of this for the seventeenth time since watching her collapse, her training axe falling uselessly at her side. He feels just as useless as the wooden tool.

He’s barely a half step into Manuela’s office before he attempts to offer an explanation for the frenzied look on his face and the woman limp in his arms. “We had been training and she-- It was so sudden-- and I hadn’t thought-- She--”

“Dimitri,” Manuela interrupts him, puts him free of his misery and simply gestures for him to lay the silver haired princess on one of the beds. “How very chivalrous of you to carry her here yourself.”

A heat rises to his face, but he battles it away diligently as he takes great care to lay Edelgard down as gently as possible. He takes each of her hands and individually lays them on her stomach, he then moves on to adjusting her legs so they both lay straight and won’t cause any discomfort.

The look on Manuela’s face when he finally glances up is hard to describe, but the feeling of shame and embarrassment it brings he feels he could quite aptly explain. He steps back as if standing so close to the unconscious princess may burn him. This earns a bemused laugh from the professor, a sound that makes him wish he could simply evaporate from existence. 

Times blurs as he stands there and watches routine check-up and careful castings. He waits with a mounting anxiety, but the news he gets is that she is simply tired and she needs to rest. The news is both a relief and a burden. 

“Don’t worry your handsome little head, she’s tougher than she looks. My Black Eagles are all quite hard working, but Edelgard is a paragon of dedication. I will advise her to take a proper break when she wakes, but it’s best that we let her catch up on whatever lost sleep she can for the time being.” 

He nods quite lamely. “Is it alright if I… stay? Until she wakes, that is.”

A smile that is all too knowing rolls across the Black Eagle teacher’s glossy lips. “I had some other things I needed to attend to, so it would be very helpful if you stayed so she doesn’t wake alone.”

“Yes, of course.” He doesn’t need to be told twice. Dragging a chair over so he can sit at the side of the bed, Dimitri hardly even notices the elder woman take her leave. 

Edelgard breathes quietly, offering little sound to the chafing silence that settles in the room around him. She is here only in the sense that he could physically reach out and touch her, but in reality, Dimitri is alone with nothing more than his thoughts and concerns. 

It is a hopeless war he wages to sit here at her side. He is the sole unit on the battlefield and he knows it is impossible to tear down the fortress before him. She is pale and when her eyes are closed and her body is limp like this it is hard to believe he is truly too weak to conquer her walls. What good is the crest of Blaiddyd to him if it can’t overcome something so seemingly fragile? 

But she  _ isn’t _ fragile. He knows that. This illusion is brought on by exhaustion alone. The moment those pale lashes flutter open, she will shatter him without having to move a single muscle. Her eyes can decimate him so completely that he fears what may become of him if their lands were to ever wage war the way history suggests. An axe in her dainty hands would surely cleave him in two with far more brutalality than her gaze. 

So why does he linger? Why can’t he look away? She doesn’t need him here now that she’s been properly treated, but even so he feels it impossible to get onto his feet and allow her to wake up in the infirmary alone. 

Would she afford him the same kindness? The voices in the back of his head insist that she wouldn’t, but he swallows them down by drinking in soft rays of daylight shining in her hair and extending a cautious hand to brush a few stray strands of spun snow from the curve of her cheek. The midnight color of his gauntlet looks so stark and sharp against the canvas of her skin that he nearly recoils on instinct. 

In this fleeting moment, she is El and he is nothing more than a boy lost in her magnificence. 

But El is an elusive vision and he knows it is foolish of him to hope for the honey haired girl with a begrudging grin on her lips. That girl has become a young woman, and that young woman is as icy as the halo of white hair resting beneath her skull.

Edelgard Von Hresvelg opens her lavender eyes and closes down all potential avenues he may have pursued in this long standing battle. Her guard is up immediately and she studies him with a scrutiny that rends the very depths of his soul. 

“Edelgard,” He clears his throat, desperate to offer her words but finding none of any worth to present. “I am relieved to see you rise so quickly.”

Her lips part and he finds his gaze dropping to watch her so effortlessly form words of response, furthering the foolish feeling in his chest. 

“There was no need to trouble yourself in staying at my side.” Brisk. Each word is clipped with a precision and she aims them at such a close range that he can do nothing but crumble. 

His smile falls along with his spirits and he finally does muster the nerve to stand once more. This hope he holds out each time is bound to destroy him one day. She chastises him for the way his heart bleeds while she readies another strike. The same voice that doubted her only moments before now roars in a gloating victory. To pursue her still is wasting his time and he knows the dead demand no set backs.

“Professor Manuela said you seem quite fatigued. I was concerned that you may need further attention when you woke and thought it best you not be alone. I apologize if that is something you found intrusive. It was in no way my intention.” 

She looks to him, eyes locking on his in some silent challenge he couldn’t truly interpret. He is staring back at a stone wall and he wishes he had the strength to simply scale it and find the woman hiding on the other side. She doesn’t speak and he pulls his eyes from her so he can set the chair he’d been using back where it belongs. It isn’t until his back is to her that he runs his fingers through his hair and steels himself for a goodbye. Another one that she may find herself forgetting so easily as she forgot the last. 

“Dimitri.” 

Her voice is so contained but he turns as if it were a desperate plea. 

“Yes?” 

“I thank you," She pauses before adding an explanation for her expressed gratitude. "For exerting yourself in bringing me to the infirmary.”

"It was no trouble, I assure you." He bows his head, hands tense at his sides. "I will trouble you no longer. I implore you to get as substantial a rest as you can manage."

"Understood. I will consider it." Without looking up, he feels the way her eyes search him and restrains the temptation to search them for some shred of familiarity. 

Turning on his heels, Dimitri carries himself from the infirmary and abstains from even a single glance back to her. 

He is bombarded by the voices of doubt, his father demanding to understand how he could possibly think things would have gone any differently, his step-mother reminding him that he is not worth remembering. Glenn was denied his chances to spark affection and enjoy the warmth of it, Dimitri hardly deserves any better fortune. El hardly glances his way because she knows what the ghosts have to continue to teach. She knows he is not worthy of the warmth he finds in her memories. 

Dimitri is worth less than the air he breathes in the stead of all who were lost in the tragedy. 

"Woah there, you awake, your Princliness? The jibes are  **much** less amusing when I'm the only one hearing them." The carefree voice bleeds through the chatter in Dimitri's head, but it takes him several seconds to process its source.

Claude is propped against the wall a few feet from Manuela's office, green eyes assessing the man who had just exited with a familiarly curious fervor. The Riegan heir is always friendly, but he is also always silently prying apart anything or anyone that lingers in his vicinity. 

"Ah! My apologies, Claude, I had been pondering upon something. I hope I did not offend." Formality is a flimsy crutch and the prince knows he stumbles through his words to reach a point where he can lean upon it. 

"No worries. I was just asking how the princess is doing, you were in there a while after Manuela left so I wasn't wanting to pop my head in and interrupt a  _ moment _ ." The grin that breaks the house leader's lips as he speaks with such nonchalance makes such simple words seem so scandalous.

"Edelgard is well. Professor Manuela is certain her capsizing at the training grounds is nothing more than a side effect of overstated diligence and a lack of proper sleep-- There was no  _ moment _ occurring." He clears his throat and tries to will the heat from his cheeks.

Claude shrugs and pushes from the wall. "Hey now, no need to get defensive. We all know you care about her, anyone with working eyes has caught wind of that one."

_ Everyone but Edelgard herself. _

"It isn't like that. It's--" Complicated? No it isn't. He longs to rekindle a fire she has never seen spark and doesn't know how to stop searching for embers in the long dead foliage. "It's no more than doing my due diligence as a peer who respects her."

A tan hand claps against Dimitri's shoulder, making him tense in alarm before simply sighing in defeat. Claude means no harm, he never does. 

“C’mon, let’s get something to eat. I think after all the fuss today’s meeting brought about we deserve a little reward.” Claude’s laughter is light and Dimitri can’t help but let the easy nature of it sweep him up. 

It’s best he goes. He can’t promise he won’t be too tempted to return to her side if he doesn’t. 


	2. Operatic

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gone for four months? Yikes. Sorry folks! This scene was half written for two of those months and then I hit a bout of 50+ hour weeks at work and didn't have even a dream of getting to write something personal. But! I'm here and here's some more of these fools being foolish.

There is no time for Dimitri in her plans for Fodlan, and all things that don't fit on her agenda are afforded the bare minimum. She is not rude, but she also never invites his conversations to linger. It's best this way. A man with storms so clear in his boundless blue eyes could never shoulder what must be done on her crimson path to peace.

He is polite. Perhaps even a little too cordial for her tastes. She doesn’t believe she’s ever met a person so stiff and that is certainly saying something because many consider her to be quite dry. He looks at her like there is something precious to be unearthed in her eyes and she can never tell if she is flattered or unnerved by the intensity of it.

Despite how delicate his emotions seem to be, he himself is dangerously sturdy. His shoulders are broad and she’s sure he has not yet fully grown into them. Though his footwork is in need of polishing, the strength he leans into each blow tells of just how structured he truly is. She's watched him break three training lances in the span of the last twenty-five minutes and she can only assume there were more before she decided to observe the little spar. 

"You're staring, Edie." The lilt of Dorothea's voice has far too many implications. 

“It is wise to study one’s opponent. I have no plans to lose the battle of the Eagle and the Lion.” She pays little mind to the way Dorothea’s grin only broadens. “I fully expect that there will be scouting eyes on our training sessions as well.”

"It is not your training regime he's interested in." 

Edelgard scoffs at the notion, a dismissive shake of her head taking the place of words. Instead of putting stock into Dorothea’s questionable school girl chatter, she lets her focus narrow in once more on the training she had settled to watch. 

It occurs to her as she watches Dimitri duck to avoid another swing that he is taking a very passive approach in response to the decidedly aggressive start the raven haired man is keen to. Just like his approach to conversation it would seem. Felix is fast, agile, light on his feet but too narrowly focused on the goal of landing a single strike. He is the kind of fighter who gives their all, but does not measure to keep the pace maintainable. The swordsman's form is meticulous and is evidence of a passion for the art of combat.

Dimitri is an unflinching force, but he lacks the finesse that is displayed so effortlessly in his opponent. His eyes also lack that same hunger for victory. For all the ruthlessness Felix presents, it never seems to wear Dimitri down or deter him from swinging his lance yet another time. She feels that is what keeps the match from tipping to a close. What Dimitri lacks in hard fought technique he makes up for in endurance and sheer strength. 

“There’s an aria about this, you know. A future queen sizing up her potential romantic partners based solely upon a man’s skill with a blade. They say you can tell if he’s a properly passionate lover based on the way he wages his wars. I, personally, would rather judge a man upon the way he looks at me, not his enemy. But I suppose everyone has their tastes.” Dorothea’s eyes don’t shift from the swordsman as she speaks. “Operas do tend to make even the most absurd notions seem romantic.” 

“I know there is little point in arguing with you, but I still feel as though I should state once more that this has nothing to do with romance.” Edelgard frowns some and then pushes from the pillar she had been leaning against. This is not gaining her much with Dorothea opting to be a distraction. 

“Ah! Edelgard!” Dimitri calls out to her and then immediately grunts as he is knocked back some by Felix striking a blow that was only narrowly blocked by the side of his lance. “Would it be too presumptuous of me to request you stay just a moment longer?”

Felix looks more than annoyed by this development and for her own part, Edelgard simply glances back to the Blue Lion’s house leader with mild confusion. His eyes are so hopeful, even as the weapon in his hand has cracked noticeably beneath his tight hold. Although she knows she does not have to humor his request, she came to study for the upcoming battle and this could be counted with the reconnaissance. 

“I would hate to be an interruption or a distraction.” She gestures between himself and the irritated swordsman. 

“We’re  **done.** ” Felix hisses out before stepping off. Dorothea is quick on his pursuit saying something about how he must be starving. 

And just like that, they are alone within the stone walls of the training grounds. Dimitri looks after Felix for a moment, something she cannot read crossing over his eyes as he shifts where he stands and then looses a heavy sigh. His hand brushes back through his hair, sweat apparent on his brow. 

“He is often like that, do not assume it is any fault you are meant to shoulder. I apologize on his behalf for being so abrupt.” A nervous chuckle bubbles up from his chest as he lowers the broken lance to his side and slowly trails his eyes from the door to settle on her face.

“It is inconsequential. Never apologize on another’s behalf, it is ill suited to a future ruler. There is no sincerity or purpose in a hollow apology offered only for the sake of being courteous.” Considering him carefully, she folds her arms and raises a brow. “What did you wish to discuss?” 

Hurt flashes across his face, a lack of diplomatic training always so evident. Dimitri leaves his eyes open to his heart at all times, another trait that is not befitting to a future ruler if one were to ask the future emperor. She watches as he shifts, taking a step towards her. 

“My duty is to protect the goodwill of my people. Felix is well meaning and I do what I can to stop his pride from dissuading others from believing otherwise. I find it far more ill fitting for a ruler to view the transgressions of their dearest friends as nugatory. Compassion is important to ruling and to brush off what is courteous and considerate only reflects to others that you are unable to appreciate your comrades.” Dimitri looks straight to her as he speaks, fully convinced of his words and unwilling to back from them. 

Fundamentally, they are so different. It is his blind love for convention that makes him speak so surely. “If your request for me to stay was so you could question my capacity as a ruler then I am afraid this is where I will be taking my leave.”

Dimitri tenses from head to toe, his already ruined lance splintering further in his grasp. He is deciding how he wants to speak, this is what Edelgard concludes as she watches him process. They stand in a stalemate for a moment longer than is comfortable, but he does finally find his words.

“I had no intention of debating our capabilities in leadership, however, I had hoped that you might be interested in sparring with me. With the Battle of the Eagle and the Lion right around the corner I would love the opportunity to a little insight and I had assumed your coming to witness my training meant you shared the same inclination.” 

A faint flush fills her chest, but she knows it has no chance for reaching her cheeks. He had noticed her watching. Maybe Dimitri isn’t quite as hopeless as she initially assumed. “You just spent quite some time fighting, I am not going to decline a chance to dissect my enemy, but I fear you are not exactly at your prime.”

“I can handle quite a bit.” He smiles and that blinding brightness is detestably disarming. “Don’t hold yourself back on my account.”

Taking several steps forwards to close the distance between them, she allows their shoulders to brush as she cast him a sidelong glance. “It would benefit me none to measure my blows against a man I could very well meet on the battlefield some day.” 

Before he has the chance to react, she steps past him to collect a long handled axe from the rack. Wooden and far lighter than her proper weapon, but this is less about battle accuracy in blows as it is about understanding the impulses that drive her opponent. She is here to study, not to silence. 

She twirls the weapon in her hands, getting a feel for how it swings and how best to measure her motions. It is mid a small flourish that she notices Dimitri approach to her side to collect for himself a new lance. Dark leather clad fingers are so careful as they cradle the wood, a care that she takes full note of. There is immeasurable strength coursing through this man’s veins, but he is cautious to the use of it. 

“I sincerely hope I will never have to face you upon the battlefield, Edelgard. I could not think of a more unpleasant fate.” Dimitri speaks with a reverence, like a man who has witnessed the hells and fears that he could be dragged back down. 

Tragedy has shaped them both, she knows this, but she wears a faint smile to mask her thoughts and responds as diplomatically as possible. “I thought you had asked me not to hold anything back. You’re not getting unsure over a few words meant to fire up adrenaline are you?”

He takes his place across from her, holding his weapon steady and studying her stance. She finds no issue in being sized up, in fact, she welcomes him to try and predict her motions. Having watched him as long as she had, she is not too terribly worried about the outcome of this match. Dimitri is hesitant and unsure by nature, and Edelgard is decisive and swift. His strength outmatches her, but if she moves with everything she has in a single blow then the battle won’t drag and her victory will be assured. 

Or at least that was the strategy she had crafted. A strategy that falls apart immediately when Dimitri is the first to lunge over the invisible precipice. 

Her axe tilts fast, swinging down to block with the head so the point of his weapon can’t make contact with her right hip. She turns, releasing her weapon with one hand to try and grab the middle of his lance to keep it trapped and allow her an opening. He unfortunately throws his weight so their bodies collide and she stumbles back a few paces.

Getting close is the only way to defeat him, but he seems ready to do anything to keep her at a distance. Their eyes lock, willing the other to say something, anything and break the sudden tension that is tied between their bodies. Instead of saying a word, she charges forwards, swinging for his midsection. He blocks by jabbing forward to her exposed side and causing her to tilt the weapon to knock his aside. 

Her chance is here. They are close, close enough she can see the way his hair clings to the swear on his skin, close enough to see the glisten of aggression hiding in his eyes. He is formidable, certainly holding his own. She’s ready to tear him down. 

She swings again, her axe getting caught on his lance as he holds it horizontally and then lifts it up, dragging her arms up with it and tugging her even closer. His breath is ragged, she’s certain her own is just as labored given the pounding in her ears. In one swift motion, he jerks at the weapon and the handle she had been gripping for her dear life is slipped beyond her grasp. 

The small ‘thud’ of it hitting the ground is barely processed before she grasps onto his weapon with both her hands, a growl leaving her lips as she pushes forward so their bodies crash together. He loses balance and she takes the opportunity to disarm him as well, letting the lance clatter onto the tiles as she falls forwards with the prince. Her weight settles above his waist and she quickly holds his down with a hand on his chest. Instinctively, she unsheaths her dagger, holding it above him to declare she has no intention of yielding here. 

For several seconds, they simply stare. He seems haunted by the vision of her, his expression swirling with a wonder so foriegn. He slowly moves to raise his hands and indicate defeat. 

“You shouldn’t have held back.” She scolds as she gets onto her feet and places the dagger in its rightful place. It must have been a trick of the light, but she swears she saw his eyes follow the motion. “Thank you, Dimitri. I believe I learned a lot today.”

She offers him a hand to help him up, a black glove soon entirely engulfing her own pristine white one. He grunts as she pulls to give him leverage and then he looks down to her with a smile. “I held nothing back. You simply…” He stops there, simply laughing.

Edelgard is certain she will never understand him. Even after seeing the way he battles, seeing him in his rawest form, she is not so sure she’s ever seen the true Dimitri. 

“We will have to see who wins when the battle is real and the stakes are far more.” She turns from him, dusting off her uniform and patting away the scant traces of sweat on her hairline. 

Walking away from him, she wonders many things. Dimitri seems to hate the notion of a fight, but she can tell quite easily he’s no stranger to the dance of blades. He is an immovable object. Edelgard is endlessly determined in many ways, but if they were to truly go to war, she is certain that facing Dimitri will be much like the sea eroding away the shore. The battle will be steady, vicious, and if she has any hopes of winning, it will have to be constant.

“Surely there is an opera about that as well.” She muses to herself before setting off to find her retainer and implement her findings. 


End file.
